


sweet girl, do you dream of me?

by nightsofreylo



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anonymous Sex, Birth Control, Cock Warming, Come Marking, Consensual Somnophilia, Cunnilingus, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Sleep Disorder, Sugar Daddy, Touch-Starved, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightsofreylo/pseuds/nightsofreylo
Summary: A modern-day consensual somnophilia series, in which a stranger has sex with Rey while she sleeps, and leaves behind tokens of affection to remember him by.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 131
Kudos: 730





	1. when the city sleeps, are you still awake?

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This is not a typical somnophilia fic! Rey suffers from a sleep disorder that causes her to fall deeply asleep whenever she becomes aroused. Once asleep, she cannot wake up or resist. However, limits are negotiated in advance, and Ben never crosses her boundaries.
> 
> Note: Do not commission bound hard copies of this work without prior written authorization.

Ben Solo keys into the hotel room late in the evening, the muted sounds of the city street below the only noise in the otherwise silent space. One of the lights has been left on, a small side table lamp that fills the room with a warm, peaceful glow. He comes to stand at the foot of the bed, his heart slamming so hard against his ribcage that he fears the sound of it will wake the girl spread out on the white silken duvet. 

She is fast asleep, her dark chestnut hair spilling around her shoulders in soft curls. He drinks in the sight of her: smooth tanned skin, freckled cheeks, a slender frame hidden by a bulky cream-colored sweater. A mere wisp of a girl. 

Her feet are bare, her unlaced boots discarded by the wall, and her toenails are painted cherry red. The button on her jeans is undone, the fabric stretched around her slightly parted thighs, one hand nestled between them. Beneath a scrap of illusion lace fabric, he can see where her fingers rest against her center. 

Ben loosens his tie and takes off his suit jacket. He tosses it beside her on the bed, no longer afraid that he will disturb her. Her breathing is deep and even, her eyelashes fluttering a little as she dreams. It fascinates him, and he feels a familiar tug under his navel. 

Setting his baser instincts aside for the moment, he checks quickly for the little manila folder he’d dropped off earlier in the day. He was more than willing to provide all of the documents she asked for, and can’t help but feel proud that she is taking all of this so seriously. Her safety is paramount, and there are bad men out there. Beasts who would take advantage of the precious thing she is offering to them. 

Ben was secretly relieved to discover that she had chosen him first. God only knows what might have happened to her otherwise, even with these safeguards in place. She is smart, and she has taken numerous precautions, almost to the point of paranoia . . . but still, the risk cannot be entirely eliminated, and he doesn’t like to think of anyone hurting her.

Inside the folder, she has added documents of her own, which correspond to the ones he provided. A printout of her test results, dated five days ago. A copy of her driver’s license, with everything redacted except for her photo and date of birth. A quick mental calculation tells him that she is significantly younger than him, only twenty-three years old. There is a youthful innocence to her face, a freshness that won’t fade for many years.

She has also returned the list of his preferences, with lines drawn through a few of the entries in blue ink. Ben scrutinizes it thoroughly, paying particular attention to the offending items. He is slightly amused to discover that she is interested in receiving oral sex, but not giving it. But he nonetheless makes a mental note of the boundaries she has set, adjusting his expectations accordingly. 

Even though his requests were straightforward and few, he feels no resentment at all having to strike some of them from the realm of possibility. If anything, he is relieved that she trusts him enough to say no when he asks for something that makes her uncomfortable. He knows just how hard it must have been for her to decide on her limits, given that she has never been able to explore any of this on her own. 

This is a delicate situation, unlike anything he has ever done or even attempted to do before. And while the anonymity is appreciated on both sides, it admittedly presents problems of its own. In the absence of face-to-face negotiations, he had been the one to insist on a formal list, so that neither one of them would have any regrets.

One of his last requests, unprotected sex, has been circled to catch his eye. He looks at the handwritten notation next to it, wondering if he has overstepped a boundary by asking this of her. His test results were negative, but she would still be well within her rights to demand that he use a condom anyway. 

_I’m on birth control. The pills are on the nightstand, if you want to check. I know it might be a lot to ask so soon, but would it be okay if you came inside of me? It would make me happy to have a reminder when I wake up._

Ben looks at the girl on the bed, whose happiness is already so important to him, thrilled at the subtle implications of the note. She is already anticipating doing this again. And she wants proof that he has been inside of her.

He walks over to examine the little half-used package of pills she left for him on the side table. Today’s pill is gone, just as she promised, the foil broken. He knows that she could be lying. It would have been easy enough for her to throw the pill in the trash or flush it down the toilet . . . but somehow, he doesn’t think that she is capable of deceit.

He returns his attention to the note, looking at the little postscript tacked on at the end. _Please be gentle, if you can. I’ve never done any of this before, either._ The block letters are a bit messy, but the meaning hidden behind them is clear as day. 

It is hardly a confession. Ben had already known that she was a virgin, or at least suspected, based on their prior conversations. But to see it written there in plain blue ink is another story entirely. His cock hardens in his slacks at the heady knowledge that she has had no else before him.

He senses that they are alike in this way, both of them so lonely. And now they will belong only to each other. She cannot possibly know how much this means to him . . . and yet it must mean something to her, too. Something more than just a fleeting encounter with a stranger in the dark of a hotel room. 

There is a purity in what she offers to him, different from anything Ben has ever known. No one else could give him this gift, because it contains an inherent contradiction. A philosophical paradox that has haunted him since he first became aware of his own cravings.

No sentient being is capable of consent, if they are not aware. And therein lies his greatest torment. If there is any hesitation, any hint of reluctance, Ben’s arousal folds like a house of cards against an earthquake. A mere compromise brings him no pleasure. The trust handed over to him must be unreserved and unequivocal, or else he would rather have nothing at all.

Perhaps that is why this nameless girl is perfect, just as she is. He wants to keep her with him always, hide her away where no one else can touch her. And even if it is selfish, he would change nothing about her. Not a single hair on her head. She was made for him, her very being formed from the elusive desire that has always slipped through his fingers like sand.

The beauty of her delicate features is secondary to the rest, unexpected and unnecessary, but he would be lying if he said it did not come as a pleasant shock. Ben traces his fingers over the smooth plane of her forehead, the curve of her cheek. He touches her mouth, marveling that she does not stir. And then he moves his hand down, along the curve of her throat. He can feel her pulse, slow and steady, matching the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she takes. So vulnerable and delicate. 

Ben bends over to kiss her softly, shifting so that he can hold his weight above her. His knee presses into the mattress beside her, brushing against her hip. She is so soft, her lips plush and pliant. Against his palm, he feels her heartbeat flutter a little, but still she doesn’t wake. 

Everything she told him was true. He looks down to where her little hand is buried under her panties. She had fallen asleep touching herself, unable to stay awake while she waited for him. Just like he’d asked her to. 

His cock aches now, already stiff and swollen, but he resists the urge to tear off her jeans and bury himself inside of her. He knows she is inexperienced, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt her. So he places his hand on top of hers, resting it there for a moment. Beneath the slightly scratchy lace, he can feel the warmth and wetness that clings to her fingers. 

Ever so slowly, he moves her hand away, placing it gently on her stomach. He works her jeans down her hips, kissing along her thighs and calves. She shifts a little in her sleep, and a tiny noise escapes her lips before she settles back atop the covers. 

There are so many things Ben wants to do with her, his mind racing with a thousand luminous possibilities. But one shines brighter than all the rest, and so Ben gently pulls her body to the edge of the bed, arranging her the way he likes. He kneels before her, a worshipper at her feet. Her thighs rest heavy on his shoulders, their weight pushing him down, and he is helpless to do anything else except drop a kiss to the scrap of lace between her thighs. 

God, her scent is divine. And her _taste_. He groans, swiping his tongue over her in slow licks, until the fabric is soaked through. 

He hears her whimpering softly above him, trapped in her sleep, and he pauses to release his cock from its confines. He clenches his fist tight around the base, remembering that she had asked him to come inside of her. And he wants to give that to her, wants to fill every part of her so that she will know that he has been inside of her once she wakes.

The lace that covers her is so innocent, a tempting little ivory piece that is practically see-through now that her arousal has dampened it. When Ben pushes her sweater up to reveal her breasts, he discovers that the panties are half of a matching set. Her belly button is adorable, and he kisses it once before moving up the ladder of her ribcage. When he shifts the feminine lace of her bralette aside to reveal her to his gaze, the thin straps fall down her shoulders. 

Her breasts are so tiny that his palms cover them completely. His fingertips drift over her nipples, teasing and pinching lightly, and soon enough they pebble against the stimulation. He takes one of her breasts in his mouth, tongue flicking over the tightened peak, and hears her breathing grow heavy in response. He spends some time there, memorizing what she responds to most, learning how to coax those little sounds out of her.

When the pleasure becomes too intense, she tries to turn over onto her side to escape, but he holds her down. “You’re okay, darling,” Ben murmurs soothingly, even as she pushes her hips up towards him unconsciously. He shoves her panties down, over her thighs, before deciding that it isn’t enough. She is shifting restlessly, and he knows that his teasing has become too much for her. She needs to be touched properly. 

“I’ve got you, baby girl, settle down,” he says, working swiftly to remove the rest of her clothing. There is an intimacy that comes with undressing her, but no shyness or inhibition. Whenever he brushes his knuckles against her skin, she moves subtly towards the contact, instead of avoiding it. “You've needed this so badly, haven't you?”

He tosses her panties on the ground, then works her thick sweater over her head and arms. With some maneuvering, he manages to get the little bralette off as well, and that joins the rest on the floor. 

She is stunning with her body on display for him like this, and he tells her so. “Do you know how pretty you are right now?” he whispers, his throat tight. She can’t hear him, but her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks, responding to the low tenor of his voice. “I wish I could show you, so that you could see for yourself. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.”

His cock is leaking now, a bead of clear fluid dripping from the tip. Ben settles down beside her, drawing her smaller body against his. The warm press of her skin is incredible, after so many years without touch. He holds the back of her head protectively, tucking her in against him. His cock twitches, leaking onto her stomach. 

“Do you feel how hard you’re making me?” he groans, reaches down between them to give himself a steady stroke. So close already, and he hasn’t done even half of what he wants with her. “Do you want to taste, baby?”

He swipes away a drop of precum, raising his thumb to her lips. They part easily, and she takes his thumb in her mouth. Her tongue flutters, curious at the intrusion, tasting something new and unidentified. 

“I can’t believe you let me touch you,” he admits, watching curiously for several minutes as she sucks, tongue trapped under the weight of his thumb. He thinks back to the blue line on the stark white page of his list, wondering if there is a reason why she doesn't want to taste his cock. One day, he might find the courage to ask her about it, but for now he contents himself with the sensation of her tongue licking away his precum.

After a time, he trails his hand lower to press the pad of his slick thumb gently against her clit, rubbing in a soothing circle. She sighs against his chest, sheltered and warm, and he drops a tender kiss to her hair. 

“I want to make you come, sweet girl,” he whispers, low in her ear. “You’ve never been able to before, have you? I know you try so hard to stay awake, constantly fighting against yourself . . . but it’s always too much, and you can’t do it on your own . . . ”

Her entrance is impossibly tight, but it yields when he pushes a single finger inside her body. There is no resistance, only warmth and wetness against his knuckles. She needs this desperately, and probably has for years before she ever met him.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, pressing deeper. Ben rubs the heel of his palm against her clit, transfixed as her hips push towards the pressure. He can hear her shallow, swift breaths and see the flush on her skin. “It’s okay, baby girl. You’re doing so good, I’m gonna take care of you.”

His cock is so hard that it is painful, but he doesn’t even attempt to touch himself again, afraid that he is only moments away from spilling onto the softest part of her belly. He hadn’t anticipated how intense it would be to hold her like this, to have a part of him tucked inside of her, connected in such an intimate way. 

Ben eases a second finger in alongside the first, hesitating for the first time since he set eyes on her. This is her first time, and she won’t be able to tell him if he needs to slow down. She is so small, her little channel exquisitely tight around his fingers. Ben cautiously makes room for himself there, thrusting them a little deeper, preparing her for everything to come. He studies her face for any sign of pain, and finds none.

When he curves his fingers towards her belly button, she begins to tremble in her sleep. If it weren’t for the way her lips part slightly, and the little whimpering moans, he might have worried that the air in the room is too cold for her now that she is undressed. 

Her thighs shake, trying to close around his hand, but Ben pushes her knees open. He touches her patiently, eyes drifting down to where his thick fingers are stretching her. He can feel the grip of her inner walls, and the slickness that coats his fingers as she throbs.

Ben carefully adds a third finger, watching it disappear slowly inside of her. His chest swells with a sharp inhale as her body tenses up, but even the twinge of discomfort doesn’t wake her. For a few moments, he simply rests his fingers inside of her, waiting as she adjusts to being filled. When he thinks she is ready, he curves his fingers slightly, giving her a chance to get used to something thick and blunt before he puts his cock inside of her. 

His gaze falls on the tiny rosebud of her clit, shyly peeking out from its hood. Her folds are a darker shade of pink, delicate and sensitive, framing the entrance that seems entirely too tight to swallow his fingers. And yet it does, as though she was made to take him, and he knows she will accept his cock the same way. 

“Such a good girl,” he whispers tenderly, marveling at the complex texture inside of her. Sleep has made her complicit, relaxed as her body is explored for the first time. “So wet and tight, almost ready to take me.”

Her hips are shifting against the pressure now, his hand drenched in her essence. Every time she exhales, it is punctuated with a soft, feminine moan. The little noises she makes are deafening in the stillness of the room. Ben pins her down and pushes his fingers into her more firmly, all the way down to the knuckle. Knowing instinctively that it won’t be enough for her, he trails his thumb back and forth across her sensitive clit. 

And then he feels it, the sudden clench and pulse around his fingers, even tighter than before. Her body abruptly becomes rigid, back arching as she finds her pleasure. He guides her through it, tracing slow circles around her clit while her core flutters around his fingers. 

It doesn’t last very long, only a handful of seconds, but it is unmistakable. She cries through her release, a hitched, breathy sob that nearly breaks him . . . and then everything in her quiets. Her breathing slows and the crushing tightness around his fingers eases. 

She nestles against him, burying her face into his shoulder. He tilts her head up to kiss her closed eyelids, lips sweeping down to press against her mouth. Even in sleep, her lips move gently against his, as though he is familiar to her. 

Once he has kissed her thoroughly, he shifts so that he is on top of her, cradled between her open thighs, with the bulk of his weight supported on his hands. His mouth trails down her jawline, pressing warm kisses along the column of her neck. He bites a little at the jut of her collarbone, wondering if she would mind being marked. 

But it isn’t on the list, so he settles for kissing slowly over the constellation of freckles that trails from her shoulders to the valley between her breasts. Ben’s gaze travels down, entranced by how much smaller she looks spread out beneath him.

His cock weeps onto her belly, swollen and neglected, and he reaches between them to slide the head down through her soft folds. Heat pours out of her center, drawing him towards the place where he belongs. He groans when his cockhead notches against her entrance, slick with the remnant of her orgasm.

Beneath him, the girl turns her head, her lips brushing against the hand that supports his weight. Her breath is warm, a soft sigh against his skin. So beautifully alive, so vulnerable and trusting. 

Ben finally pushes his hips forward, feeling her part for his cock. His breath catches when he finds that she is barely able to take him past the broad head. The surge of pleasure that comes with being enveloped by her body is blinding. It drives him to push heedlessly forward, with far less restraint than he intends. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, overwhelmed by the sensation of being held within her for the first time. He closes his eyes, grappling for control. It would destroy him if he hurt her, but every instinct is telling him to drive forward, deeper into her. He traces her clit, trying to coax forth more of her wetness. “Come on, baby, please.”

He stills when he is halfway inside of her, hitting resistance and tension. She is such a little thing, and he is afraid that she might simply be too small to take him. He pulls his cock out slightly, groaning at the new sensation. When he thrusts back in, a little further this time, she makes a quiet sound and tilts her hips up. 

He gasps when the slight change in position allows him to slide deeper inside. She mewls like a kitten, writhing a little in her sleep, and Ben pushes one arm underneath her, supporting her lower back so that her hips are at the perfect angle to accept him. 

One final thrust, and his length is buried completely. Tears sting at the corners of his eyes, a feeling of perfect completion washing over him. His strength fails, and he collapses onto his forearm, burying his face in her hair. 

“You feel so good, sweet girl,” he chokes out. “So pretty like this, with my cock inside you. Such a good girl.”

Every inch of her is pressed against him. Her little breasts are crushed against his chest, her belly soft against the hard ridges of his abdomen, her tight little pussy surrounding his cock.

Ben knows this will not last long, no matter what he does. So he uses what little time he has left to whisper into her hair, telling her that she is perfect. Everything he has ever wanted. She should always be cherished, always be safe, always be taken care of. The words pour from his chest unchecked, because even if she can’t respond, she still deserves to hear them.

He doesn’t want this to ever end, but his body is treacherous. Every time he thrusts, her inner walls clench in response, as though her body is trying to keep him inside. The pleasure of it all is blinding, his cock pulsing when he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against hers. 

The pressure builds until it is agony, until he can’t drag it out any further, and he spills into her with a hoarse shout. Ben is distantly aware that he is being too rough with her. His next few thrusts are desperate, erratic as he empties into her, but there is simply no restraint left in him. With a painful sense of finality, he pushes deeper one last time, coming to rest inside of her. He holds her close and trembles, not wanting it to be over.

Perhaps that is why he doesn’t pull out of her right away, waiting until his cock softens within her. Eventually his come begins to leak out of her . . . and then he has no other choice. He slips out of her, keeping her locked in the safety of his arms, but the distance is still unbearable. 

Ben’s throat tightens with emotion when he finally withdraws to see what he has done to her. Her nipples are peaked and reddened, her clit swollen. Come is seeping out of her, stark white against her delicate pink folds. It trails down her inner thigh to stain the comforter. 

His first thought is to draw a bath for her. Carry her into the warm water, wash her clean with expensive lavender soap. She is too good for him, too young and pure. A part of him wants to leave her exactly the way he found her . . . but she had asked for the reminder, and he cannot deny her anything.

So instead, he picks her up, her body slightly heavier than he expects. His arms strain under her shoulders and knees . . . but the weight of her body against his chest is steadying, and he doesn’t have to move her far. He lays her down gently with her head on the pillows, admiring the way her sun-kissed skin and dark brown hair contrast with the stark white hotel sheets. 

The girl turns onto her side, blissfully unaware of the mess he has made of her body. Ben tugs the sheets and duvet over her, covering her up to her shoulders before desire can cloud his judgment. He wishes he could hold her a bit longer, but she has forbidden him from staying until she wakes, and there is no telling how long that will be.

He gathers their things up from the floor, dressing himself and folding her clothes into a neat pile. Then he reaches into his suit jacket pocket, retrieving a gift that pales in comparison to what she has just given him. He sets the box on the desk, on top of the papers where she will see it, knowing that nothing he gives her will ever be enough.

As much as it pains him to touch what he cannot keep, he takes a moment to kneel beside her, tucking her beautiful hair back behind her ear. Her face is peaceful and still. Ben presses one last kiss to her forehead, knowing that she will not remember any of this in the morning.

And he will never be able to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be from Rey's perspective, so be sure to subscribe to updates (or follow me on twitter/tumblr)! 
> 
> Please leave a comment to feed the soul of the author! 
> 
> Beta'd by my good friend, ReyloRobyn2011 💖


	2. after the sun rises, will you find me again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey awakens to find a gift.

The sun peeks through the curtains, bright and autumn gold, announcing the morning with gentle persistence. Rey’s eyes flutter open to see glittering dust motes suspended in the air. When she exhales, sleepy and content, they dance in the sunbeams. 

She pulls the covers up to her chin to trap the warmth inside. Her eyelids are heavy, her body still clinging stubbornly to sleep. A feeling of happiness tugs at the edges of her mind, coaxing her back into that drowsy realm of fleeting contentment. 

She had been safe there, sheltered inside a dark building with high ceilings . . . an old rustic barn, or perhaps a very large house, which lay hidden deep within a dark pine forest. Thick stone walls and heavy industrial beams had protected her from the outside world, the malty scent of grain and wood warming the corners of her fragile heart. And the door to the house was locked, the key held by someone she trusted very much.

Rey wishes she could retreat back into the refuge of her dreams, but the light is shining through a gap in the curtains, falling directly on her face. If its brassy tone is any indication, it is rather late in the morning.

And that in itself is strange, because usually she is up at the crack of dawn, even on the weekend. Rey turns over onto her back, and the sheets slip like water over her bare skin. Her fingers smooth over the pillowcase beside her, so much nicer than the plain cotton one she has at home. 

Her brow furrows at her unfamiliar surroundings. A pretty upholstered armchair rests against the wall, the kind of decorative piece that belongs in an interior design magazine. All of her clothes have been folded and stacked atop it, and she blinks drowsily at them. She doesn’t remember undressing before crawling into bed, but she isn’t wearing any clothes . . . not even underwear.

Another oddity, as she never sleeps in the nude, even when her matchbox apartment is unbearably hot in the sweltering heat of the summer. 

Her mind collects all these disparate pieces together, their uneven edges falling abruptly and perfectly into place. Rey jolts upright in bed, clutching the covers to her bare chest, staring at that pile of clothing with wide eyes. 

Her vintage jeans from a local discount store are folded beneath the cozy sweater she’d worn to her night class. The ivory lingerie that she’d chosen to wear on the night she anticipated losing her virginity is hidden in the middle of the stack, with little bits of lace peeking out. 

Casting a quick glance around the empty hotel room, the events of the previous night return to her. She remembers walking through a set of revolving glass doors into the expansive lobby of the hotel, and checking in at the front desk. The elevator ride to the twenty-ninth floor, melodic music playing faintly in the background. 

The memories grow more distant as she retraces her steps. She dimly recalls keying open the hotel door, reviewing the documents on the desk, and scrawling a hasty note on the list. _Please be gentle._ She has a vague memory of laying down on the bed, and unbuttoning her jeans just enough to slip a hand inside. 

After that, she remembers nothing. 

She glances nervously around the room, half-expecting to find someone lurking in the shadows that the curtains cast along the far wall. It is a sharp relief to find that she is alone and unharmed, even if a twinge of wistfulness follows close behind. 

Trembling as she slips out from beneath the covers, Rey sets her feet on the ground, wincing a little as she stands on shaky, coltish legs. There is a soreness deep inside of her, but instead of causing her concern, it brings a vibrant laugh bubbling up from her chest. She hesitantly touches the inside of her thigh, where the crumbling evidence of what has been done to her is white against her skin.

Even without it, there could be no doubt of what had transpired while she slept. There is an ache inside of her that is entirely different from the tension she usually wakes to. A bone-deep feeling of satisfaction, instead of an embittered frustration. She puts one hand over her mouth, beaming brightly even as relieved tears stream down her cheeks. 

Her happiness flutters inside her chest, a tiny hummingbird trapped in a cage. Wiping the tears away with the backs of her hands, she slowly composes herself enough to conduct a cursory investigation. 

It pleases her greatly to find that she is an absolute mess. Her hair is tangled so badly that it cannot be fixed by simply running her fingers through it. Her entire body feels sore and used. And there is a faint, but not unpleasant, scent that clings to her skin. It is deep and masculine, the crisp wooden tenor of a man’s cologne, and maybe also his sweat. It excites her to know that he had been so close to her, close enough to leave traces of himself behind. 

As reluctant as Rey is to wash the evidence of him away, she recognizes on a more practical level that she will need a shower before she gets dressed. She can hardly walk the six blocks back to the station with a stranger’s dried come under her clothing.

On the side table, there is a hotel phone, and she quickly hits the button for reception. A short ring, and then a generic male voice filters into her ear: _Good morning, reception, how can I help you?_

“Hi, good morning,” she says, hoping that she won’t end up with a late checkout fee. The round-trip train ride into the city had cost her twenty-five dollars, and with rent due in a few days, she really can’t afford to get stuck with another expense. “What time is checkout?”

“Twelve o’clock.”

She glances at the clock on the side table, wondering how long she had slept. It is rare for her to wake feeling this rested. She can’t remember the last time she managed to get more than six hours in one night, so she is more than a little surprised to see the time. _9:53._ No rush, then, if she wants to stay for an hour or two. 

“Okay, perfect,” she replies.

“Very good, miss,” the receptionist says, polite and perfunctory. “And what time would you like your breakfast?”

“Oh, is that included?” she asks nervously.

“It was paid for in advance, miss.”

She hesitates for a moment, feeling guilty for some inexplicable reason. This hotel is one of the nicest in the city, and she hasn’t contributed so much as a single penny towards the cost. The room had already been covered in its entirety when she arrived, billed to the same card that was used to book the reservation. 

If she had known that beforehand, she probably would have insisted on an equal split. Even if paying her fair share for this kind of suite would have put her perilously close to maxing out her credit card, it would have been better than feeling the way she does now, indebted to a stranger.

It seems ungrateful to impose any more cost on the anonymous man who had agreed to take her virginity while she slept. Regardless of what happened between them last night, he doesn’t owe her anything. She really should decline breakfast and have the charge to the room cancelled.

But as she stands there, stark naked while she debates the moral implications of not contributing half of the hotel money, her stomach pangs with hunger. She hasn’t eaten since lunch the day before, and there isn’t much waiting for her in the fridge at home. 

As famished as she is, Rey decides that it won’t hurt to accept this little act of kindness. Paying for breakfast is a courteous gesture, and it would probably be even more rude for her to refuse it. 

“Okay, could you bring it up in . . . ” She pauses. “Half an hour?”

The receptionist recites an overwhelming number of selections from the room service menu. Made-to-order omelettes, waffles with a topping of fresh fruit, eggs and bacon, gourmet salted caramel french toast. Rey wishes she could order them all just to try a bite of each, but settles on the last option, her sweet tooth getting the better of her.

Once she hangs up, she wanders slowly towards the bathroom, each step drawing her attention back to the tender feeling under her navel. She isn’t sure whether she aches so badly because she was a virgin . . . or because he was particularly well-endowed. Her throat goes dry at the latter prospect, inordinately curious about the man she had invited into her bed.

In either case, she hadn’t seen so much as a drop of blood on the pristine white sheets, which leads her to think that he had at least tried to be gentle with her. 

Behind a pair of sliding doors, she finds an enormous double vanity, a white freestanding bathtub, a toilet, and a glass-walled shower. The mirror over the vanity stretches nearly to the ceiling, and there isn’t a single smudge or scratch on its perfect surface. An initial inspection of her reflection reveals that there are no bruises on her skin, no bites or other marks. 

It is a comfort to know that he had not simply taken whatever he wanted from her body. Rey had tried not to dwell on the risks beforehand, knowing that she wouldn’t have the courage to go through with their arrangement if she kept imagining the worst. She had vetted her possible candidates thoroughly before making a selection, and it is good to know that her trust in him was not misplaced.

She uses the restroom quickly, eyeing the miniature hotel soaps and lotions on the sink enviously. The bar of hand soap has a creamy, minty scent, and suds easily as she washes her hands. It would probably be plebeian of her to stash them in her purse on the way out . . . but who would ever know, except for her and the cleaning service?

Elated at the prospect of not having to conserve water, Rey turns on the shower and waits for it to get brutally hot before she steps under the spray. The steaming cascade pours over her shoulders, the water pressure absolutely divine. She moans, tilting her head back to wet her hair. The scent of eucalyptus rises all around her when she lathers the shampoo between her palms, working it into her hair. 

She follows her normal routine, but since her monthly utility bill is not a consideration, she allows the conditioner to sit for a little longer than usual. Such a simple luxury, and yet it makes her a little emotional. She never gets to have nice things like this, always sacrificing to make ends meet. One day, it will all be worth it.

It feels good to just stand there under the water, tracing lines absentmindedly on the glass of the shower wall, not having to worry about anything. Eventually she picks up the bar of soap, scrubbing lazily over her arms. Down her breasts, and her belly. And finally between her legs, where a nameless man had spilled the proof of their union inside of her.

A blush rises to her cheeks as she thinks of all the things that might have happened while she slept. She had read his list beforehand, and approved most of the requests on it. But there is no way for her to know what he had ultimately chosen to do with her . . . or how she had responded. 

After putting him through all this expense and hassle, she can only hope that she had not been a disappointment to him. It is still hard to comprehend why any man would go to all this trouble, merely to spend a single night with an inexperienced girl who cannot even reciprocate his touch. 

Self-doubt suddenly clouds the bright blue sky of her contentment. Even though Rey knows it isn’t her fault that she has no control over her reactions while she sleeps, she cannot shake the fear that she may not have been enough for him. Rey buries her face in her hands, rubbing at her eyes. She tries desperately to block out that pervasive feeling of inadequacy, but concern still lingers stubbornly in her mind.

He had once told her that part of the allure for him comes from coaxing an uninhibited response from her body while she sleeps. And if that is true, everything might have been ruined if she wasn’t receptive. What if she had just laid there listlessly, unable to feel any pleasure through the barrier of her sleep? 

_He came for you, though_ , a tiny voice whispers inside of her. She clings to that reminder, thinking back to the many text conversations that had culminated in their meeting. _This is what he has always wanted, more than anything. He told you so._

As her fingers dip down to search cautiously between her thighs, she closes her eyes to imitate the complete darkness of sleep. Rey tries desperately to remember the weight of a broad, heavy body moving on top of her . . . _inside_ of her. But no matter how hard she tries, her conscious mind cannot recall what he had felt like. 

And now the only evidence of his presence is being washed away with scented soap suds. He had marked her with the proof of his pleasure, just as she had asked him to, but that reminder of him proves fleeting, erased by the water in a matter of minutes. The white stain that had trailed from her entrance down her inner thigh is gone, as if it had never existed. Rey abruptly finds herself wishing she had asked for something more permanent to remember him by.

She will have to be content with the knowledge that she had been the one to make him come. His cock had been hard for her; it was her body that had brought him over the edge. Even if she hadn’t been aware of her effect on him at the time, it gives her a sense of ownership and agency now. 

Rey’s searching fingers begin to drift back and forth over her clit, trying to relieve the pressure that train of thought has evoked. She wonders distantly if he had touched her there last night. The little bud feels more sensitive than usual, raw and abused, and she concludes that he must have. 

A familiar sense of drowsiness follows quickly on the heels of her arousal, heedless of the fact that she has only just awoken. She withdraws her hand bitterly, and places it flat against the marble tiles to resist the temptation to continue touching herself. Over the years, she has grown accustomed to repressing her needs. With her disorder, the line between arousal and sleep is drawn very thin, and she learned a long time ago how to recognize when to stop herself. 

It wouldn’t be the first time she has fallen asleep in the shower, but right now would be a decidedly inconvenient time to do so. She shuts the water off and quickly towels off. The conditioner has softened her hair enough that she is able to finger comb through the tangles and pull it up into a loose ponytail. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spies a long white robe hanging on a hook by the door, and she tugs it on to keep her hair from dripping on her shoulders as she walks back into the main room. Her phone is exactly where she’d left it the night before, the screen facing down on the stand next to the bed. The packet of birth control pills rests beside it, silver foil glinting in the sunlight.

She reaches for her phone, unlocks it, and quickly opens her last conversation with him to check for any new texts. Disappointment coils like a knotted rope in her belly when she scrolls to the bottom and finds only his last message to her, the one he’d sent to her just after she arrived at the hotel. 

The simple words are fraught with underlying meaning. _If you decide to stay, I expect you to be waiting for me on the bed._ The text sends a delicious little shiver through her, just like it had the first time she read it. 

Is his silence now a bad sign, or is she reading too much into it?

The room service provides a welcome distraction from her tumultuous thoughts. It appears right on time, delivered by a well-dressed member of the hotel staff. She accepts the tray, which holds a plate of three perfect slices of french toast drizzled with caramel. A pile of mixed berries has been arranged artistically on the side, the colors bright and cheerful. A miniature carafe filled with thick maple syrup has been placed in one corner of the tray, a glass of pulpy orange juice in the other.

Her mouth waters as she carries the tray across the room. It isn’t often that she is given the chance to lounge around in the morning, so she decides to treat herself to breakfast in bed. She burrows her legs under the thick comforter and places the tray on her lap, the scent of cinnamon and citrus making her impossibly hungrier.

The first bite is heaven. Maple syrup hits her tongue, followed by a piece of french toast that is perfect on the inside, not soggy in the slightest. She eagerly digs in, picking up a raspberry and popping it in her mouth. 

There is a television mounted on the far wall, and she considers turning it on, but in the end decides to bask in the morning quiet instead. A brief retreat, before she has to return to normalcy. She cleans her plate, savoring the last few bites slowly, fairly certain that she has now been ruined for all other french toasts. Probably for waffles and pancakes, too.

 _Spoiled_.

The word comes to mind as she licks the last trace of sticky syrup from her fingers like a heathen. She sighs, knowing that all good things must eventually come to an end, and climbs out of bed to get dressed and start collecting her things. 

The pair of ivory lace panties is ruined, and her cheeks flush as she shoves them into her purse. It feels odd to slip back into her jeans without the barrier of her underwear. The uncomfortable fabric rubs roughly against her most intimate parts. As she blindly hooks her bralette and tugs her oversized sweater over her head, she makes a mental note to bring a spare pair of underwear with her next time.

If there even is a next time. 

Her phone has been conspicuously silent, but she checks it again out of compulsion. He hasn’t sent her so much as a _good morning_ text, or even bothered to check whether she is awake. Rey bites at the inside of her cheek, wondering if she should make the first move. Her thumb hovers over the screen of her phone, completely at a loss for words.

He hinted before that he would be willing to continue this with her, if it was what she wanted . . . but those were only hints. They have never spoken to one another directly, even over the phone, and she knows just how easy it would have been to misinterpret things. It is very possible that he was simply being kind - or worse, manipulative, telling her whatever he thought she wanted to hear.

Rey puts her phone away, deciding that texting him so soon afterwards will only expose her to the worst kind of rejection. And she isn’t sure she can handle that right now.

So she slips on her boots, ties the laces at her ankles, and walks over to the desk to gather her papers. Like the rest of her belongings, he has stacked the documents into an almost compulsively straight stack, with the manila folder on the bottom . . . and a black velvet box on the top.

Rey stares down at it, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it before. The box isn’t very large, only about the size of her palm, but he had placed it in plain sight so that she would be certain to find it. 

A sense of expectation flutters under her ribcage as she picks it up, examining it curiously. The velvet is soft under her fingertips. A seam splits the front so that it opens like a set of doors, and inside, on a bed of midnight-black fabric, rests a delicate golden necklace. 

Her hands shake as she frees it from its velvet cage. She doesn’t need to consult with a jeweler to know that the gold is real, the stones genuine. There is no doubt in her mind that this necklace is worth more than anything she has ever touched, let alone owned. 

Rey falters twice with the clasp before managing to secure it, and then turns towards the window to examine her faint reflection. She swallows through a barrage of emotions, her fingertips tracing the place where the curve of a crescent moon settles coldly against her skin. A tiny star accented with a flawless diamond dangles beside it, evoking thoughts of cloudless nights and dreamless slumber. The dual charms are suspended on the chain by a circular ring that rests perfectly just below her collarbones.

As though the necklace was made for her, and her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a thousand years of internal debate, I chose not to skip over Rey's chapter. We'll get back to the smut soon, though, I promise!
> 
> Beta'd by ReyloRobyn2011, who pitched the concept for Rey's gift. 💖 
> 
> A photo of the reference necklace is over on my twitter, if you want to follow me there!
> 
> As always, your comments mean the world to me!
> 
> (P.S. I know I deleted their texts at the end of this chapter, it just felt out-of-place with the pacing upon rereading.)


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